I mistakenly thought that going on patrol would cheer me up, but I am so wrong. I hop around Midtown listening to Paul Oakenfield and all I accomplish is bringing my pulse rate up a little. I end up just sitting on a rooftop, moping.
Okay, here it is: I kind of miss Hydrangea a little. I mean, I could get used to hanging out with somebody like that. You know, a pretty girl.
Don't get me wrong, I have friends and stuff, but I can't really tell them about the secret identity or else it wouldn't be a secret identity, would it? I can't tell my brother, either. It makes me feel like a dick. Then on the other hand, I have my superhuman peer group; people like Wombat and Kestrel and her. It's great to have other super freaks to talk shop and team up with and stuff, but it's sort of a business relationship - you always have to have your game face on.
Maybe I should get a cat.
1 comment:
Yeah, 'cause you'd feel kind o' guilty if you found some other girl, huh? Except for, maybe, Margo, but she has Evil Val Kilmer.
Feelin' for ya to the max, Kevin. (And not in the queer since of "feelin' for ya"; I don't have anything against queers, but I don't swing that way)
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